


house of gold

by thelostcolony



Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin - Menken/Ashman
Genre: F/M, Gen, I was feeling emotional about them having a good future with cute kids, M/M, also why the heck isn't there a pre-existing al/kas/jas tag? tf?, it's really cute guys seriously read it, it's slice of life is what it is, they have a Brood™
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24584326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelostcolony/pseuds/thelostcolony
Summary: He’s afraid, desperately afraid to become a father, but as he holds his baby girl in his hands (tiny, so tiny) and Kassim looks up at him, eyes full of stars, the fear instantly flees.
Relationships: Aladdin & Babkak & Kassim & Omar (Aladdin - Menken/Ashman), Aladdin/Jasmine (Aladdin - Menken/Ashman), Aladdin/Jasmine/Kassim (Aladdin - Menken/Ashman), Aladdin/Kassim (Aladdin - Menken/Ashman)
Kudos: 5





	house of gold

**Author's Note:**

> hey there guys ! so I wrote this literally ages ago on my tumblr rp account (@riffrcffed for anyone who's interested djlfs) and I finally got around to rereading and posting it! I was feeling emotional about Aladdin, Kassim, and Jasmine post-musical (and post marriage, as it turns out) so here's the outcome of me dealing with Aladdin's fear of becoming a father and his ptsd of his mother's death yeeha! I developed the kids with @arabiandawn.tumblr.com and @arabiandusk.tumblr.com, so go ahead and check them out!
> 
> Note: I am not Middle Eastern and don't speak Arabic. I have Arabic words in here that I have taken from some of the more trustworthy sites, but if you see something that can be corrected please let me know! I want to make this as accurate as possible. 
> 
> Title taken from Twenty-One Pilot's song "House of Gold".
> 
> Thanks again, and happy reading!

**♢**

He’s afraid, _desperately_ afraid to become a father, but as he holds his baby girl in his hands (tiny, so tiny) and Kassim looks up at him, eyes full of stars, the fear instantly flees.

Their daughter has Jasmine’s complexion, lighter than Aladdin’s own, but her nose and eyes are his. She gazes up at him in wonder, full of love and life and trust, and as Aladdin feels her (tiny, tiny) heartbeat he never thought he could love anything so much.

Jasmine names her Saidah, but not before asking Aladdin after his mother’s name. It’s not that he doesn’t want their daughter to bear his mother’s name (his mother, who dedicated so much to him, even sacrificed her life for him—how could he not wish to honor her?)

But though there are great things he remembers about his mother (her laugh, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the way she always kissed his forehead just as he was falling asleep) he still remembers some of the harder things (longing, eyes always turned to the horizon, waiting, waiting, waiting).

The meaning of the name Zena is _hospitable_. He doesn’t want his daughter to make the same sacrifices that his mother made, not for anyone.

(Though he can imagine making them himself. He’d do anything for this little girl, tucked into his arms, breathing little huffs of air against his collarbone through tiny, tiny new lungs).

Saidah means _happiness_ and _fortune_ , and that’s all he ever wants for his daughter. She will be fierce, he can tell, but he would prefer she be fierce like Jasmine than hospitable.

It seems like the blink of an eye before they have their next child—a son named _Tariq._ Jasmine begs and begs and begs Aladdin to let her name the child Ali, and Aladdin flatly refuses, Kassim hot on his heels. Their son (her eyes, her complexion, but it’s _his_ face staring back at him) will not fall prey to the mistakes Aladdin once made; though Ali means _nobleness_ and _excellency_ Aladdin would much rather let their son shine like the star he’s named after instead of from a need to feel _worthy_.

Kassim is the one who offers _Tariq,_ and Jasmine and Aladdin don’t question it. Kassim is just as much the father as Aladdin is and has every right to their child ( _their_ child, all three of them). Tariq is perfect.

Their son is already a star in the sky. There isn’t much he has to reach for like Ali did.

Saidah takes to her new brother like fish take to water. Only two years old and mischievous as any hellion, she manages to wrangle Tariq into all of her schemes and escapades, and before long they’re chasing one another (one toddling, one crawling) into new and exciting adventures.

“They’re always getting into trouble,” Jasmine says, amused and exasperated.

“You’re only in trouble if you get caught,” Aladdin winks, and his wife swats at him.

“They remind you of anyone?” Kassim asks, smirking, and Aladdin laughs when Kassim gets swatted in turn.

For all Tariq looks like Aladdin, he’s definitely Jasmine’s son. Aladdin has never had the patience Tariq seems to; Tariq watches and waits and then imitates. It’s impossible to punish him because he’s not throwing the tantrums of toddler-hood. He’s following by example. 

Saidah, though, is Aladdin’s through and through. She’s impetuous, stubborn, reckless, and has all the best intentions. Aladdin relates to her on a level that should bring them together, but instead seems to make them clash more than not. Saidah, though only four, stamps her foot and crosses her arms and insists and insists and insists, and Aladdin, for all his patience, can’t get through to her. 

“Shh,” Jasmine soothes one night after Aladdin had lost his temper, raising his voice at his children for the first time. “It’s not the last time she’ll hear it, from you or me.”

“Am I a bad father?” He begs, and she takes his face in her hands and kisses him and kisses him and kisses him until he’s not insecure anymore.

Another child follows not long after, a little boy they call Marid. Marid looks exactly like Kassim, except for his nose; that belongs to Jasmine. He’s a quiet boy, less boisterous than his sister (now five, and as stubborn as ever) and his older brother, who’s learned quite a bit in the three years of his life from his partner in crime. Marid sticks to Kassim like glue, and cries when taken from his arms.

“I’m so afraid,” Kassim confesses to him, one night as they lie side by side in the dark. “I have bad dreams - bad dreams where I drop him.”

Aladdin turns and kisses him and tries to press all the reassurance he can into it, remembering that night, years ago, when he’d raised his voice at Saidah and worried he’d been a bad father. “You love that child too much to drop him,” Aladdin says finally. “You’d die before you even finished letting go. Your heart.”

Aladdin never tells Jasmine of what Kassim confided that night, but by the way her eyes follow Kassim as he swings Marid round and round just to hear him laugh, it’s not hard to imagine she knows.

Of course, naming him _Marid_ had its consequences. Not only is Marid Kassim’s son, but now he lives up to the meaning of _rebellious_. He smashes antique vases, throws food on the walls, and pulls his older sister’s hair. It’s mostly for her attention, because he’s too little to keep up with Saidah (much too stubborn) and Tariq (much too observant), but now they have Marid: much too bold.

A little girl comes, then, and Aladdin's heart soars at the sight of her. Not that he’s partial to his children—they all hold the same amount of space in his heart—but this little girl looks like his mother, somehow. _Zena_ is on the tip of his tongue, honeysweet and soft, but then Kassim is offering _Amirah_ , and Jasmine’s eyes are filling with tears and she’s whispering “oh, yes please, it’s perfect.”

And Kassim smiles and kisses her forehead and murmurs _of course_ and Aladdin, well. He doesn’t look at this little girl and see _charity._ He looks at this little girl and sees a princess.

(“After my mother,” Jasmine mumbles later, half asleep as she nuzzles Amirah’s fuzzy head with her chin. The lump in Aladdin’s throat takes a long time to force down, even after both Jasmine and Amirah fall asleep. It isn’t a bad feeling.)

(Kassim kisses Aladdin’s forehead too on the way out, so maybe Aladdin is more transparent than he’d first thought.)

It takes time to recover from the unexpected heartbreak of seeing his mother in his second daughter, but he loves her all the more for it. They’re all their own people, little though they are, and they all manage to have him wrapped around their little fingers.

“Abee,” Saidah says one day, seven and growing like a weed. “Abee, do you love Ummi?”

“Yes, of course,” He answers, confused and troubled. “Why do you ask?”

“Because Baba always brings Ummi flowers. You never bring Ummi flowers.”

He laughs so hard tears come to his eyes. “ _Habeebti_ ,” he says, “don’t worry. I’ll get Ummi flowers.”

That seems to satisfy her, and she gleefully uncrosses her arms and plops into his lap.

Later that night, as he lies next to Kassim, he leans close to Kassim’s ear. “Are you asleep?” He says, and Kassim mutters something that sounds almost like a grumpy _I_ **_was_** _._

“Our daughter is worried I don’t love Jasmine,” he says, and that’s when Kassim cracks an eye open to stare at Aladdin in confusion. “I don’t bring her as many flowers as you do.”

Kassim laughs, just like Aladdin hoped he would. “Don’t you now,” Kassim says, lips curled in amusement, and Aladdin snorts and tucks himself closer against Kassim’s back. 

“Yes,” Aladdin agrees, and presses his lips to a bare shoulder. “So quit taking jasmines to Jasmine. She’s _my_ wife.”

Kassim snorts something that sounds suspiciously like _“idiot”_ under his breath before he drops off into sleep again.

Amirah grows, and Saidah is pleased that Aladdin is bringing Jasmine more flowers, and Tariq and Marid tumble about in the gardens avoiding their lessons. All is well, and then they have another little boy named Nasir.

“Please, boys,” Jasmine says as she cradles Nasir in her arms. “Stop bringing me flowers.”

Aladdin and Kassim laugh until Jasmine throws pillows at them to force them away.

Nasir looks like no one in particular, truth be told. The curls could be Kassim’s or Aladdin’s. His eyes could be Jasmine’s or Kassim’s. His nose belongs to no one. He has a dimple on one side of his smile, but none of them have dimples.

Still, Nasir tries to keep up with the rest of their brood, and Aladdin loves them all the more for it. It’s come to a point where their children are no longer interested in their lessons (Saidah, nine, finds her time better spent wandering about the palace gardens and dueling imaginary enemies with the scimitar she’s made of a stick) and Tariq (seven) is glued to Jasmine’s side, an _ummi’s_ boy through and through. Marid is still attached to Kassim’s knee, and instead of arguing or attempting to pry him off, Kassim just drags their boy around like he’s not even there.

You pick and choose your battles. Aladdin’s learnt that the hard way.

Nasir cries every time he leaves their arms, and Aladdin and Jasmine sleep many a night with the baby nestled between them.

“Were you serious?” He asks one night, gently tracing the curve of Nasir’s soft, rounded cheek. “When you asked us to stop bringing you flowers?”

He knows she knows what he means.

“…No,” she decides after a while. “A break might be nice, though.”

That’s how two some odd years are spent, corralling their brood into something of a royal family. The people love their children; love Aladdin, Jasmine, and Kassim all the more for it. Jasmine throws herself into being Sultana and mother both, oftentimes seen marching from one meeting to the next with a slew of children behind her, clinging to her skirts.

That’s how the street children start—but of course, not really. They’d always been a part of why Aladdin had wanted to become sultan; a part of why he’d wanted (and feared) children of his own. They’re small, defenseless orphans.

Aladdin and Kassim intimately know what that’s like.

The first child they take in is a little girl named Kalila— _beloved._ She soaks the Palace in like it’s an oasis and she is the thirstiest creature alive, awed by the sounds and the sights and the servants. Saidah and she become fast friends; Saidah is all too happy for a playmate around her age, and Kalila seamlessly joins their family.

Jasmine miraculously, says nothing, almost as though she hasn’t noticed the addition. Or rather — almost as though she doesn’t notice that the addition is an _addition_ , for she treats Kalila the same as she treats the rest of her children.

And thus begins the scheming.

It starts late at night, a dream here and a fleeting thought there. _Could we, what if, maybe an orphanage? No, no, that would never work. But what if…_

Their second and third children are both boys: Asad, little lion heart, and Akil, all logic. Asad is twelve and protective, snarling at Kassim and Aladdin before they come close, guarding Akil with nothing more than a rusted blade and his tiny, quaking body. Akil speaks up with a trembling voice. “We have nothing for you, plea — please leave us alone.”

They’re the wariest of all the street children they adopt, but they turn out to be the best of them. Not that, of course, Aladdin or Kassim have favorites, but Asad and Akil bring a harmony to their family that they hadn’t previously thought possible. Asad, whose bite is far worse than his bark, and Akil, who’s all bark and no bite. Akil mends the bridge between the littlest girls and the older boys, and Asad the oldest girls and the littlest boys. Asad enjoys the company of his sisters, Saidah, Kalila, and even Amirah more than he enjoys the companionship that Tariq, Marid, and Nasir have to offer. Saidah has calmed somewhat and seems to take pride in her lessons now, but Amirah still dreams of far off adventures and sword fights. Kalila likes to read more than she likes to gallivant around, and she and Asad end up swapping books often.

Jasmine definitely knows what their doing, but Aladdin gets the sense that she’s too amused to say anything. They lie side by side in silence often nowadays, but it isn’t for lack of words to say. It’s just that all the words that need saying will be said when the time is right.

That time happens when Jasmine is pregnant with their next child, and Aladdin finds a little boy named Hani.

He falls in love at once.

Hani is two years old. He has bright green eyes and a freckle at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t speak, and only allows Aladdin to hold him. Found in a burlap sack on the outskirts of Agrabah, Aladdin supposes he can’t fault Hani for his wariness. He doesn’t know whether to be honored by the trust Hani places in him or frightened to all hell by it.

“What if I drop him?” Aladdin says to Kassim one night, terror gripping him at the thought. He can see it in his mind’s eye. He sees himself slip and fall. He watches Hani topple over a railing or down a flight of steps. Watches Hani slam his head against the ground. “He’s always on my shoulders, Kass, always on my shoulders. What if I fall? What if I slip?”

Kassim turns around to face him, and kisses his nose. “Where’s that Ababwa confidence?” He teases, and then sobers. “You love that boy too much to drop him, he says. Your heart.”

But that fear lingers and paralyzes Aladdin’s every step. Hani is ever on his shoulders, thumb in his mouth and wide eyes searching, always searching. 

Aladdin feels a pang he thought he’d long forgotten about. Zena’s eyes, his mother’s eyes, always skimming the horizon for a figure that would never appear.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” Jasmine murmurs in his ear one night. The flower petals from the jasmines he’d brought her lie scattered across the sheets and floor. “Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out? _I’m_ the one who has all the children, Aladdin.”

He chokes on his own spit, and then grins bashfully at her.

Jasmine has their sixth child, a little girl who won’t stop screaming no matter what they do. It’s a constant, shrill sound, and Aladdin, Kassim, and Jasmine spend the first time in a long time in a bed together taking shifts. Aladdin is especially exhausted, plagued by dreams of his mother, of her searching gaze that he sees in Hani, of the reminders he sees in Amirah.

It’s from a nightmare-riddled sleep that Aladdin stirs to an ear-splitting shriek from the antechamber.

“It’s your turn,” Kassim grumbles into Aladdin’s shoulder, nose pressing uncomfortably against the joint.

“Please,” Aladdin moans back, barely conscious and floating at the edge of a doze. His head hurts. He closes his eyes and sees his mother sitting at the window, refusing to move in case she misses a long awaited silhouette. “Please, Kass.”

Jasmine shifts beside them, restless in sleep, and he and Kassim exchange a bleary-eyed glance.

Then they both climb from bed.

Aladdin stands too fast and sways once he’s on his feet, flash spots in front of his eyes. “Whoa,” Kassim says, and steadies him. In the light filtering in from the balcony, Kassim stares at Aladdin, drinking him in. Aladdin sways on his feet, likely looking a fright. “Alright,” Kassim says after a couple seconds have passed. “Back to bed with you. _”_

“I can get her,” Aladdin weakly argues, but as he’s tucked back in he’s really quite uninspired to do so. “It’s my turn.” He sees his mother. His mother, distant and gone from him, mind wandering somewhere else. Would she have neglected him if he were crying like his daughter is?

 _“Shut up, idiot,”_ Kassim whispers, kissing his forehead and sweeping from the room, taking with him Aladdin’s dark thoughts.

He’s woken what feels like seconds later but for the noticeable chill in the bed from Kassim’s absence. He squints into the darkness, and barely makes out the shape of his eldest daughter standing beside their bed, twisting her night-shift.

“Saidah,” he says, and rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Saidah, _habeebti_ , what’s wrong?”

“I had a bad dream, Abee,” she sniffles. “I had a bad dream where you left, and you didn’t come back.”

He stares at her, taken aback. Saidah has always been fiercely independent—always Aladdin’s girl. She’s inherited all of his worst traits, but she makes them seem like good ones. She’s stubborn to a fault, far too prideful. But there’s a bigheartedness about her that’s impossible to ignore or deny.

She hasn’t come to him for much of anything, since that first time he raised his voice at her. She was so young, and he was so reckless. They clash more than they get along, they’re so similar.

But she stands before him now, thirteen and sniffling like she’s three again, and all he wants to do is hold her.

“Come here,” he says, and opens his arms to her, and as she comes into his embrace he feels a tightness in his chest ease. He hadn’t known it was there, has no clue how long it’s festered, but now that it’s loosened he feels like he can breathe again for the first time.

“Saidah,” he says in her ear, and she’s half asleep already, sagging against his warmth with her head tucked under his chin. “Saidah, would you like to hear a story?”

“Hm?” She’s half asleep, but he feels he should tell it anyway.

He clears his throat, licks his lips, and glances at Jasmine’s back. Her breathing is far too measured. Not sleeping, then.

Something inside him eases further.

And as Kassim finally makes his way back into the room, crawling carefully into bed, Aladdin starts, “your grandmother, you never met her. But her name was Zena. Do you know what that means? It means to have something called hospitality. When your _mother first had you, I was so afraid…"_


End file.
